142 With the Nightingales at the Vicarage. 



light, yet not strong enough to cast shadows too deep 

 to be eerie. In a little arbour we sat waiting, and 

 what is waited for is invariably long in coming. But 

 also it is true, and how delightful 'tis that 'tis also true, 

 in the words of the French proverb, that " all things 

 come to him who can wait." 



We waited, beguiling the time in talk of many things 

 literature, art, and music ; and at length the music of 



ROBIN SINGING. 



the nightingale at once crowned and silenced our talk. 

 The shadows of the trees, like finer ghosts of them- 

 selves, lay lengthened on the grass. The leaves of 

 the lime and the poplar gently fluttered, even when 

 there seemed no breeze to stir them, and an almost 

 inaudible murmur appeared to steal across the thick 

 long grass, here and there cluster-starred with mar- 

 guerites, that faintly wavered in the moonlight, in the 

 pauses of that song. 



